


i have to get better (or else we won't work it out)

by murphysarc



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Angst, Character Death, Chronic Illness, F/M, Gen, Hurt No Comfort, Illnesses, Medical Inaccuracies, Post-Season/Series 04, SPACE SQUAD, basically murphy gets sick again, clarke is barely in it but, monty & harper & echo are mentioned like once sorry
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-10
Updated: 2017-08-10
Packaged: 2018-12-13 14:30:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,631
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11761863
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/murphysarc/pseuds/murphysarc
Summary: as it turns out, fate isn’t quite done screwing john murphy over.or, murphy never completely recovered from the sickness that ailed his youth. returning to space doesn’t help matters. post s4. murphamy. title from “meet me in the hallway” by harry styles.





	i have to get better (or else we won't work it out)

**Author's Note:**

> all of this medical stuff is like so inaccurate, and i didn't know how to convey it when none of them are doctors or close to, but basically murphy was born with weak lungs and the air that is generated from the oxygenator isn't enough 
> 
> also, while i doubt that it will be, part of this may be taken in wrong context as glorifying suicide. please know that i would never, ever condone anything like that.

**i.**

Murphy doesn’t know the word for it, but he hasn’t been healthy in years. 

On the Ark, the first time around, a common fever had almost been the death of him. Even when that sickness lifted, breathing remained difficult for some time. He couldn’t walk without feeling dizzy. His vision was permanently filled with spots.

On the ground, most of these symptoms lifted. Still, some days he woke up unable to breathe. Some days he couldn’t run more than a meter without fatigue. Some days, he was sipping at the world through a straw, hands clawing at the sky, trying and failing to bring more life into his aching bones.

The obvious symptoms were easy to disguise. It was easy to hide when nobody cared to look.

Yet, the second he stepped back into the Ark, he knew he was done for.

 

**ii.**

He coughs, only once, but it’s loud enough to the entire room turns to look at him. 

“Jesus, Murphy,” Raven says, laughing once. “Be a little louder, would you?”

He has to pause for only a second to grab more air and stuff it into his lungs, but he manages a casual smile. “Anything for you, Reyes.”

Emori, next to him, shakes her head in a playful way. By now, she’s used to his banter, but one pair of eyes doesn’t look away from Murphy.

Bellamy’s always been able to make Murphy feel like the most and least important person in a room, and now is no different.

 

**iii.**

_ “You killed your father,” his mother says.  _

_ “No-” _

_ He shrinks back further into himself, letting her demonic laugh slice and carve at his already fragile being. _

_ “You killed your father, and now you’re going to kill all of them, too.” _

He wakes, in the middle of the night, brow sweating and stomach churning. It’s another nightmare, but it’s fine, he’s fine - 

His breath is short and fast. Not enough is reaching his desperate lungs, but he knows how to handle this, silently, without help. He knows, he knows how to slowly sit up and place his head between his knees and shut his eyes, blinking away the tears.

He knows how to do all of this silently, because it’s selfish to ask for help. He didn’t know how to do this when he was young. One only has to look at where his father ended up to know what will happen if he forgets.

 

**iv.**

There’s a knock at the door, somewhere in the middle of the day. “Murphy?” a voice calls. “You alright in there?”

It’s Bellamy, because of course it is.

The honest answer to that is no, he is not, but Murphy doesn’t know how to fit his mouth around those words. “I’m good,” he says instead.

He is good, if good is sitting on the edge of his bed, gripping onto the mattress so tightly that all his knuckles are white. If he lets go, he’ll fall back onto the bed and be unable to get back up. If he stands, he’ll fall to the floor and be unable to get back up.

It doesn’t make sense. His lungs feel tight, feel broken, but that’s nothing new. Air is flowing in and out, like it should, but he feels as weak as everyone assumes he is.

“Emori said you’re sleeping in late but it’s getting past late,” Bellamy replies. “You sure you’re good?”

“I’m  _ fine _ .” It’s through gritted teeth. He can’t handle the extra stress of speech.

There’s a pause. For one horrible, grateful moment, Murphy hopes Bellamy’s gone away, but then, “Do you need help with anything?”

Murphy wants to say no, but his mouth isn’t so great with that word, either. With a lack of a reply, Bellamy opens the door. Murphy can’t bring himself to look up, instead focusing on the floor, attempting to move his fatigued muscles into a standing position, but it just isn’t happening.

“Murphy?” Bellamy closes the door behind him. “What’s wrong?”

Murphy just shakes his head and shuts his eyes. In an instant, there is a warm presence next to him. A supporting hand is placed on his back. Murphy allows his fists to unclench slightly, the hand catching him as he falls back. 

“Murphy, you’re not fine. Are you injured? Are you sick?”

_ Why do you care, Blake, _ he wants to say, but he already knows why he can’t. “I can’t tell you, right now,” Murphy finally decides on.

Bellamy bites his lip but nods. “Okay. What do you want me to do?”

“Just - Just don’t move. For a little.” 

“Okay.”

 

**v.**

_ The air on the ground was fresh. Radiated, maybe, but it helped. _

_ Nobody knows that Murphy was born very premature. He was not able to breathe on his own. Abby Griffin, only a medical apprentice at this point in time, was the one to connect him to a vent that saved his life.  _

_ Nobody knows that Murphy’s lungs are heavily scarred. In perfect conditions, he is not able to draw enough air into them. Even a simple cold could prevent him from breathing, fill his airway and snuff out his life easier than one would a candle. _

_ It almost happened to him, years ago. _

_ But the air on the ground was fresh. It felt different, cleaner, somehow. He was still sick, during that time, still unable to properly breathe, but it was easy enough to live. _

_ Now he is here. Now, the air is unnatural, filtered, coming from an oxygenator meant to support only one life. He is living in a giant incubator with six other people who don’t understand what’s going on and  _

_ he _

_ can’t _

_ breathe. _

 

**vi.**

He slinks to the shadows, now, so much so that even Emori finds it difficult to spend time with him. On the rare occasion that he makes it to a room where the others are, Bellamy’s eyes are so watchful and calculating that it scares him. 

Ironically, it’s one of the good days where it all begins to end.

He’s made it up and out of his room, choosing to spend the time wandering the halls, when he coughs. It’s violent, but all of them are. It’s painful, too, but nothing he can’t handle - 

That is, until he can’t stop.

Murphy’s hand shoots out to catch the wall, preventing his fall. He’s wheezing now, gasping for air. It’s entering his lungs, filling them, but it’s still not enough. 

“Murphy?”

And, of course, Bellamy chooses that moment to round the corner. 

Murphy makes a feeble attempt to wave him away, but another coughing fit overtakes him and his knees buckle, hitting the ground hard. Bellamy runs over, leaning down next to him, one hand on his back, another on his side. 

“Murphy, what’s going on?”

The air stops coming into his lungs at all and he coughs, coughs until his being and soul have been forcibly pushed into the world but it’s  _ not enough _ .

His eyes go wild and his free hand grabs onto Bellamy’s arm, squeezing it to regain some sense of balance. He knows Bellamy doesn’t know what to do, but how would he?

He coughs, he gasps, tears sting at his eyes - 

His vision fails and so does his body, falling into Bellamy’s arms. Vaguely, he’s aware of being gently laid to the ground. He thinks Bellamy’s yelling for help, but that seems more like a dream than reality.

Murphy lets himself go.

 

**vii.**

_ “You killed your father, and now I’m going to kill you.” _

_ He’s trapped, his mother with fire for eyes standing before him, a gaping abyss behind him. Murphy could jump, or approach his mother, but he’s not suicidal, not yet. _

_ “I didn’t kill Dad.” _

_ Murphy’s mother laughs, the cruelness of it cutting into his mind. “Oh, I wish I had a bit more of your optimism. Maybe if I did, I wouldn’t be dead.” _

_ She leans in closer, and he backs up, his feet only an inch from the edge -  _

_ “But that’s right. You killed your father, then you killed me, and for that, I’m going to kill you.” _

_ His feet reach the edge, and then he falls, down, down, down - _

 

**viii.**

He’s aware of only a few things.

Voices, too many voices, different pitches and volumes - 

Strong arms underneath his back and his knees, carrying him - 

A soft bed below him, but the hands don’t leave - 

And then, he can breathe, and the release is bliss.

 

**ix.**

His eyes open for a moment. 

There is something on his face, some sort of mask, pushing air into his lungs every time he inhales. It’s clean air, not from a poorly functioning oxygenator, clean enough that his lungs don’t scream in resistance.

He’s awake enough to hear voices from somewhere further off in the room.

“What do you think is wrong with him?” That’s Emori. 

Bellamy answers with a sigh, “I wish I knew. Clarke would have known, but…”

A third voice surprises him. “You would think, with all of the knowledge in the Ark, they’d make it a little easier to find information.” He might be hallucinating, but he thinks that it’s Raven.

The three people he cares about most are here. It’s enough for him to wish for breath.

He blinks, a small attempt to attract attention, because there’s nothing wrong with him that they can fix -

mentally or physically - 

but the darkness is quick to seize control.

 

**x.**

_ “You can’t kill me, not even if you tried,” he says, but his mother has always been able to push him further than he can pull. _

 

**xi.**

When he wakes next, Emori is to his left, Bellamy to his right. Raven is above him, quite literally, eyes lighting up when she sees he’s awake.

“Hey,” she says, softly. Her face is upside-down to him. For some reason, it’s hilarious, but he doesn’t have the strength to laugh.

“Listen up, cockroach,” she says. “This is  _ not _ how you go out. You do not get to die because of some fucked up lungs, alright? You have not stubbornly survived all you have to die like this.”

“Said the raven to the cockroach,” he mutters. Murphy has no idea if she’s heard him, or if he was intelligible at all, but the message is received. 

The oxygen mask pushes a fresh round of air into his lungs. He thinks Bellamy squeezes his hand, but he’s not sure.

 

**xii.**

“John.”

Emori’s whisper is soft, delicate, ready to break at any moment.

“I don’t...I don’t know how this medicine works. I don’t know what’s going to happen, but you should know that I’m - I’m pregnant, John.”

She pauses.

“You’re going to be a father, so...stay alive, okay? For our child.  _ Please _ .”

 

**xiii.**

It’s three days later that the oxygen mask fails.

This isn’t surprising. It’s connected to one, sole oxygen tank, and even that wasn’t full when they started using it again. It was going to run out, and soon.

The problem is Murphy’s condition is chronic and his luck is finally catching up with him. 

“There’s got to be something we can do,” Bellamy says, eager to push the hand of fate.

Murphy gives him a weak smile. “I can’t survive up here, Bellamy. Not with only one oxygenator.”

“Then - Then we get another oxygenator!”

“Sure, let’s do that. Where, exactly, are we going to get one?”

Silence.

“Murphy, you’re going to be a father, I...I can’t let Emori lose you.”

“Bell...I know.” 

“I don’t want to lose anyone else.”

Murphy sighs, refusing to meet his gaze. “Trust me, I know.”

 

**xiv.**

Exactly a week later, Murphy takes his final breath.

It isn’t easy. For two days now, air has come few and far between. Bellamy carried him closer to the oxygenator, resting him on the adjacent wall, but it made little difference. 

Emori sits on his left, their hands intertwined. Bellamy claims the spot on his right, taking the other hand. Raven sits directly across, Monty and Harper next to her. They’re curled into each other, fighting the emotion. Even Echo has shown up. 

They all know it’s the end.

Murphy’s heavy head rests on the wall, his eyes closed. The darkness is inviting, beckoning him with a firm hand. It’s tempting to place his shaking one in it, grabbing onto the end, drawing up his own conclusion, but - 

Emori strengthens her grip on his hand and he can’t. He’s going to be a father. He will not deprive his child of himself, he can’t do that to them, or Emori - 

Bellamy sighs low, steadying himself, and he can’t. He’s going to be the man Bellamy sees that he can be, he’s going to prove himself, he can’t leave now - 

Raven shakes her head in denial and he can’t, not now,  _ he’s not finished -  _

but he is.

His lungs are tight. His breathing is far too slow, his pulse slowing with every moment. The truth is that his organs are deprived of oxygen and he is dying, bit by bit. He cannot survive here. It was foolish to think he could.

He wants to go slower, to make them all believe - 

He wants to go faster, to make them all forget - 

There’s a moment, where he thinks of all those who have died, and tries to imagine his place among them but it feels so unreal - 

John Murphy’s last words on this Earth are “I’m so sorry,” but they do not mean what everyone believes them to be.

 

**xv.**

_ “You thought you were done with me, weren’t you?” _

_ Murphy’s done, taken Death by the hand, come to a final bow, but there she is. The fire in his mother’s eyes burns brighter than ever, but she cannot haunt him when they are both ghosts. _

_ “I am,” he says, turning the other way, stepping closer to the abyss. _

_ “Don’t you dare walk away from me!” _

_ He does. _

_ “You killed your father, you killed me, but in the end I got my revenge! I killed you! Don’t you forget it!” _

_ He turns and smiles, facing her. “I already have.” The fire in her eyes dulls. _

_ With one final laugh, Murphy spreads his arms out and tips off the edge, falling until the end of time. _

_ Murphy does not know the word for his illness, but he does know the word for “free.” _

 

**xvi.**

Nine months later, Emori gives birth to a baby boy. “It is tradition to name children after those who have died,” she says softly, cradling her child to her chest. His hand is slightly deformed and his lungs are not optimal, but he is perfect. “Jonathan Otan Murphy, welcome to the world.”

Years later, those left in space land on Earth. Clarke welcomes them with open arms. “You made it!” she cries, tears falling out of joy. 

“No,” Bellamy will say quietly. “Not all of us made it.”

It will not be long before they create a grave, marking it with a simple cross, as they did in the old days. It will not be long before Jonathan asks about his father, and Emori will show him the empty grave, explaining that his father is now a star that will never stop protecting him.

It will not be long before Bellamy visits the grave at least once a week, sometimes more, sometimes daily when he can’t handle being one of the leaders. A new council is elected, a new society is forming, but he can’t help feeling someone else should be there with them.

It will not be long before Murphy’s grave is joined by other empty ones, ones for Lincoln, Maya, Jasper, Lexa, Wells…

It will not be long before Bellamy grows old, kneels at the grave, and whispers, “You have nothing to be sorry for.”

**Author's Note:**

> why do i love roman numerals so much? man i wish i knew
> 
> anyways sorry for this, hope it wasn't. well. you know. comments keep me cool in the summer <3 <3 have a lovely day!!


End file.
